Page 11 of Innocently Captured By the Bratva

With his jaw clenched like that, I can see every angle of his chin. The way his hand rests on the steering wheel, so casual and incredibly masculine, sends a shiver down my spine. I haveso many questions, but one keeps coming up: Why does he care what happens to me? Why was he watching over me?

Despite the absurdity of the situation, I find the idea of a man like him checking in on my safety strangely appealing. Then, I entirely discard that crazy internal talk.

That’s how victims of Stockholm Syndrome talk, Quinn,I tell myself.

As if he can read my thoughts, he chooses this moment to glance over at me. The way his gaze pierces through me makes my breath catch in my throat. I feel a blush creeping up my neck as I look back at the apartment. The tension in the air could generate electricity.

”How long do we have to wait?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

”As long as it takes,” he replies firmly.

The discomfort I feel only grows stronger with each passing minute. The occasional exchange between us does little to alleviate the strangeness of the situation, no matter how hard we try.

“You know, if you wanted to spend more time with me, you could've just asked me out on a date like a normal person,” I quip, trying to lighten the mood.

Mark's lips twitch at my little joke. “Where's the fun in that? I thought you liked a little danger, Quinn.”

I roll my eyes, but a thrill runs through me at his words.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement catches my eye, and my heart drops to my stomach. There, in the window of my apartment, I see a shadowy figure moving behind the curtains. A strangled gasp escapes my lips, and I feel Mark tense beside me.

”No,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “This can't be happening.”

But even as the words leave my mouth, I know it's true. What Mark warned me about is real! I feel like I'm going to be sick.

Mark's voice cuts through my racing thoughts. “Your apartment is probably being bugged right now, Quinn. There’s no other reason for someone to be in there for so long. Or, they might be waiting for you to return to attack. But that seems unlikely, since they would try to hide and go unnoticed. Clearly, this man doesn’t care enough to hide, so I’m thinking it’s more likely the former reason he’s in there.”

”Why?” I ask, terror rife in my voice.

“I wish I had answers for that,” he growls and slams his fist against the steering wheel, making me lurch. “Listen, we should leave now before this situation gets worse. If whoever this is finds us here, things could get ugly.”

I look over at him and find myself caught off guard by the genuine worry in his eyes.

“I can't just leave everything behind,” I argue in vain, not prepared for this sudden turn of events, at having my life turned upside down. “I have a life here. I can't just leave my apartment!”

Mark sighs, running a hand through his short black hair. “You don't have a choice, Quinn. They know where you live, and they won't stop until they get what they want.”

I shake my head, refusing to accept his words. “No, I'll find another place to stay. A hotel, a friend's house, anywhere but with you.”

I reach for the car door, determined to leave, but Mark's hand shoots out, gripping my wrist. “Don't be stupid, Quinn. You're not safe out there on your own.”

I yank my arm from his grasp, anger and fear warring inside me. “I can take care of myself, Mark. I don't need you to protect me. But thank you for the warning. I think I’ll call the cops for now.”

But even as I say the words, I know they're a lie. The shadowy figure in my apartment is proof that I'm in real trouble, and I’ve worked with enough dangerous men to understand that the cops can’t always be of help. Still, I can't bring myself to admit it, not to Mark, not to anyone.

For if I do, that would make me helpless, when I’ve tried to be anything but.

I make another attempt to leave the car, but Mark is faster. He pulls me back, his hands firm on my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. His blue-gray eyes bore into mine, and for a moment, I'm lost in their intensity.

“I'm not going to let you walk into a trap, Quinn,” he says firmly. “You're coming with me, whether you like it or not.”

Before I can protest, Mark reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of handcuffs. My eyes widen in disbelief as he snaps one end around my wrist and the other to the car's door handle.

”What the hell do you think you're doing?” I demand, tugging at the cuffs. The metal bites into my skin, making me captive.

Mark turns to me, unapologetic. “Keeping you safe, even if it means doing something you don't like.”

I stare at him, shellshocked, my mouth hanging half-open. This can't be happening. I’m handcuffed in a stranger’s car, completely at his mercy!

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